


Crisis of Faith

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Final Fantasy Kink Meme, M/M, Older Gladiolus Amicitia, Time Travel, Younger Ignis Scientia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 15:59:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16601072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Gladio no longer believes that Noct will return and the world will be saved from darkness. But the chance discovery of a Solheim time-travel device gives him the opportunity to look for answers in the past. Or at least work out some of his anger at Ignis, whose faith remains untarnished.





	Crisis of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: https://final-fantasy-kink-meme.dreamwidth.org/3040.html?thread=72416#cmt72416

There are two glowing disks set in the dungeon floor, one gold and one silver. Gladio steps on the gold one by accident and suddenly Ignis isn't by his side any more. _Fucking magic_ , he thinks, and tries stepping on the other one. Bam, he's back in the present a few seconds later and nearly gets skewered to the wall because a panicked Ignis is a lethal Ignis.

"Whoa," Gladio says, blocking and moving to Ignis' blinder side. "Iggy. It's me."

"Prove it," Ignis demands, which is not great. Gladio hates when he gets triggered and starts seeing Ardyn in everyone; it reminds him of what a shitshow Altissia was and how useless he'd been, and Ignis always goes into a self-loathing spiral afterward, especially if he hurt anyone in his paranoia. Somewhere, Ardyn is laughing his ass off.

Gladio dutifully recounts a couple of anecdotes that only the real him and Ignis should know, and then arbitrarily calls the whole dungeon-diving mission off. Ignis is prickly with anger as they make their way back to the haven. Whatever. That's practically their default these days.

When Gladio revisits the dungeon a few weeks later, he's alone and he has time to experiment with the magic floor disks. What he figures out, after several there-and-back trials, is that it sends him back in time. He has no way of controlling how many years he goes; it doesn't seem to depend on the length of time he stands on the disk or (he feels like an idiot trying this) a set time he tries to psychically project with the power of his mind.

He always ends up around twenty years ago, which he confirms by walking down the road outside the dungeon into what's a ghost-town in the present day. Back then, in better and more innocent times, it has a gas station, a store, and a freaking nail salon. Gladio sells some of the crap he's picked up here and there, and gets a nice chunk of cash even though he suspects the cashier just wants him out of her shop ASAP.

He uses the bathroom – he's missed running water – and takes a hard look at himself in the mirror. He's pale like he hasn't seen the sun in a decade, he's dirty from sleeping rough, his hair is long and pulled back in a greasy ponytail, and he's got the start of a wildman beard. He can see why the cashier freaked.

He feels a visceral revulsion at the idea of returning to darkness and despair, to a world dying a bit more each day. He spends a night at the nearest haven, trying to acclimate himself to the idea that he has all the time in the world to spend, here. He's shocked to see that the haven's not sacred yet, and thus poorly maintained: previous campers have left behind rubbish, used condoms and empty beer bottles.

He doesn't know anything about time travel, but he thinks about it now, as he cleans the haven up, bringing water from the creek to sluice the carved stone surface clean. He's seen fantasy movies and read books, of course. He figures two things could happen: one, he might change something now and alter the future – in which case he's probably already fucked things up. Two, he might have to _make_ changes now, in order to create the future he knows. 

He figures the best place to go looking for answers is the Citadel, so that's where he heads. He buys new clothes that don't stand out and a hat (sunburn would be hard to explain when he goes back) and leaves his own in a bag inside the dungeon, and then takes off. Between hitching rides, walking, and renting chocobo, he's on the road a couple months before he reaches the bridge. He doesn't have papers or ID, so getting into the city itself is tricky, but he's clever. His memory might be rusty, but he knows people here. It's home.

He has to sit down on a bench and cry when he's finally in sight of the Citadel. The city being whole hits him hard, as do the care-free throngs of people, but inside these walls is the crystal, protecting them all; and the King; and his father. He could warn them, he could change the future, he wants it so badly that he clenches his hands into tight fists and shakes, unable to even hide his face or wipe away the hot tears.

When he can finally control himself again, he realizes his hat fell to the ground and now has some coins in it, as well as a card referring him to a homeless shelter. He almost breaks down again seeing that, the kindness to a stranger in need. He loves his city and its people with an animal ferocity, and he makes himself get up and keep walking, hating the Empire with every step. 

He has no way to get into the Citadel library by himself, but he has a plan. He breaks into his family home easily – he remembers the code, and his fingerprints are the same – and goes straight to his father's quarters. His dad's old uniform fits, mostly, and Jared's kept it in pristine condition. His hair and beard aren't regulation, but a good brushing, a trim, and some water makes that less immediately obvious. He puts his own clothes in a briefcase his mother bought his father, who'd shoved it to the back of the shelf, unable to either use it or get rid of it. Gladio is less sentimental.

He crawls into the Citadel on hands and knees, through the passageway Noct had found as a kid that led out to the Royal Park. There are cameras and alarms now, but he _knows_ about them: explaining the heightened security to Noct had been his very fond duty, years and years ago. Once inside the Queen's Courtyard, he remains crouched in the shadows, timing patrols; when he thinks he has enough intel, he gets up, slips into the corridor, and walks at a brisk pace to the south-west elevator block. He takes the stairs up and doesn't encounter anyone, so it makes a good enough place to lurk. By the clock on his phone, it's nearly nine pm.

He's not eager to get nabbed and interrogated, so he doesn't wait for Ignis on Noct's heavily-guarded floor, but when he sees the elevator start to move down from the twentieth floor, he slips out and hits the button. Half a minute later, the doors open and he gets in – keeping his face away from the cameras, briefcase in hand – and looms over a very small and tired looking Ignis, still in his junior high uniform, though his necktie has been folded sloppily into a pocket.

Being a clever kid, Ignis eyes him warily, but he's too polite to say anything. Not keen to make trouble, Gladio supposes, just eager to get home and have his dinner. Do whatever Ignis did for fun, when he wasn't coddling and cajoling his royal highness. Gladio vaguely remembers as a kid noticing Ignis at this age: he remembers being grateful that he was never spotty like Ignis was, and that he grew as soon as he hit thirteen. Not that he'd felt sorry for Ignis; just glad to be better off.

He hits the button for the fifteenth floor, and then mutters _damn_ , and hits thirteen as well. He sees Ignis' shoulders twitch at this, and fights down the urge to grin at him. _Yeah, kid_ , he wants to say. _I'm fucking with you. Good of you to notice._

When they get to fifteen, as the doors are opening, Gladio says very quietly, "I have a gun, Ignis. Get out here."

He can see the lightning flash of thoughts across his face. If Ignis doesn't get off, he'll be trapped in the elevator with Gladio, who's standing in front of the emergency call button. But if he does get off, he knows the Citadel well enough he can run, or yell for help. There are offices on fifteen, and surely someone's working late.

Ignis gets off, and instantly Gladio's got his arm locked around his neck, cutting off his air and lifting him mostly up off the floor. There's no one in the corridor, but it's risky being here. Fortunately, there's a men's room just diagonally opposite from the elevator. Despite his struggles, Ignis is easy enough to drag.

He shoves Ignis' chest up against the tiled wall as he lets him get a breath, pinning him there with his weight.

"I'm not planning on shooting you," Gladio says, just loud enough to be heard over Ignis' coughing. "I just need access to the library, which you're going to give me because you don't want me telling your uncle or the King that you're queer. I don't think they'd let you near the Prince if they knew, do you?" Ignis stills, breath coming in fast little gasps. "I _know_ ," Gladio says, leaning in, on that fine line between saccharine sympathy and threat, "about the boy at school – what was his name?" Gladio had known Ignis for over a decade before this little anecdote had come out, told with typical light self-deprecation, as if it hadn't hurt like a bitch when he'd been cruelly rejected and mocked. "You know – the boy you wrote that letter to. I suppose this will teach you not to put some things in writing."

"I never – " Ignis starts, a belated attempt at disavowal.

Gladio pushes his back, emptying his lungs and rendering him speechless. "Yeah, you did," he says, almost gentle. "Don't be a liar as well as a cocksucker, Ignis." The Ignis Gladio knows despises dirty talk and what he calls _crude language_ , so Gladio gets a kick out of knowing he can say whatever he wants, here and now.

Ignis goes limp, suddenly, his weight sagging toward the floor. Anyone else, Gladio might worry they'd passed out, but even this miniature junior high version of Ignis is already well trained in self-defense. Gladio knows this trick: an attempt to break free of his grip and put some space between them. He grabs Ignis' belt at the back and hauls up, making him cry out and push up on his toes as the crotch of his trousers dug hard into his dick and balls.

"I don't want to hurt you," Gladio says. "You're cute and you've got a lot of potential, but face facts. I'm bigger, stronger, and have a lot less to lose. And all I want is a couple hours in the library."

"Why?" Ignis says. He sounds stuffed up, like he's going to cry. The idea makes Gladio's dick come to attention. He's slept with present-day Ignis a few times, but it's always been very safe, polite, restrained sex. Ignis doesn't like roughness; Ignis is a boring, clean sheets, clean language, soft music kind of guy.

It makes Gladio want to see the bright green eyes of this Ignis fill with tears as Gladio gags him with his cock and fucks him up.

" _Because I say so_ ," Gladio growls. After a moment, Ignis jerks his head in a nod.

That doesn't mean Gladio lets his guard down. They have to go down one floor and then past conference rooms F to O, footsteps echoing on the stone floor. Ignis tries to make a run for it twice; the second time he tries to run Gladio through with a forlorn umbrella left behind in the stand next to the kitchenette. Ignis ends up getting bounced off the stainless-steel counter-top and falling, striking his shoulder hard as he goes down. Gladio is furious at the noise he's made, and smacks Ignis' ass with the umbrella hard enough to bend it in two and making Ignis catch his breath in pain.

It fucks with Gladio's head. He's still imagining fucking Ignis, and he's also angry at him. He'd love to turn Ignis over his knee and spank the fight out of him. Make him remember just who the King's Shield is and whose place is at Noct's side protecting him; shatter his condescension and his unshakable faith, because it's been ten years and the world is ending and Noct is not coming back. Not in their lifetimes. Maybe not ever, and he wants to carve that hard truth into Ignis' skin with his own daggers. Make him stop believing, so that maybe Gladio can feel like less of a monster for his own crisis of faith.

Fortunately, Ignis at this age has already developed his uncanny sense for reading the atmosphere. He seems to realize he's pushed Gladio into a dark place and keeps quiet, limping one pace in front as they slip through the atrium and up to the locked library doors. Security here is tight, because some of the rare books and manuscripts from the king's private collection are irreplaceable. Ignis takes out his ID without hesitation and and swipes; the doors click open, and then they're inside.

Gladio remembers studying late here when he was in high school, sometimes alone, occasionally with the other kids. Often with Ignis, who took advantage of the Citadel's facilities when not attending Noct or training for the Crownsguard. The library is familiar ground to him, and moving through it in the dark is easy. Past the periodicals and circular sofa, up the steps beyond the librarian's desk, and into the stacks before he turns on his flashlight. At the sudden light, Ignis cringes back against the nearest bookshelf, and then glances toward the door.

"You're not getting away," Gladio says. He smiles as predatorily as he can, rolling his shoulders back. "Feel free to try again. Or if you don't want to get hurt, I need books on magic. Solheim stuff, probably, technical and not theory."

"This is philosophy," Ignis points out, scared but still scornful.

Gladio stares him down, angered further by how he's betraying himself. He'd loved reading all the old philosophers, and the great histories of Lucis. He'd known himself to be a part of that great tapestry of knowledge; born a Shield to the man who became the True King. He'd had a place in the universe, had proved himself, had been strong enough and brave enough and still...

...not clever or wise enough to stop Ardyn. Not important enough for the gods to deign to notice. Left behind to rot in darkness, breathing out hope and inhaling resentment. What good was the glorious architecture of intellect when the world has fallen to the Scourge?

"Maybe over there," Ignis suggests, and it's the most timorous Gladio has ever heard him. Placating the madman. Buying time, perhaps, while he plots an escape.

"Sure," Gladio says. He drops his arm heavy over Ignis' shoulders, like a threat, and lets him lead the way.

Magic was never his thing; fundamentally, he doesn't get it. Magic is unpredictable and unfair. Ignis never had trouble accepting magic. Maybe he never expected it to make sense, as long as it was a tool he could use. Ignis seems familiar with the books in this corner, at any rate. They're all serious-looking academic texts; some of the older leather-bound ones are written in Ancient characters. He pulls several aside, skims others and sets them back. He's favoring his right arm and can't completely hide the way he winces every time he stretches in the wrong way. Gladio looks away from him, across the worktables and out the windows at the city. Thousands of lights, millions of people, and in a few short years all will be gone.

It weighs on him, chokes him. He'd save them all if he could; he can't; there's no hope. Not for him, not for Ignis. The future is gone. The people outside are just corpses. Daemons waiting to happen.

"Go dump those on the table," he snaps at Ignis, pointing. Ignis does so, setting the books he's chosen down in two stacks and nervously lining up the spines. "Your arm hurting you?"

"I'm fine," Ignis says, the immediacy of his response a mistake that he realizes only once the words have left his mouth.

"Fucking liar." Gladio drops the briefcase on a chair and pats the tabletop. "Hop up here, let me take a look." Ignis' eyes flick to the doors again, as if calculating how likely he'd be to escape. He'd been a fairly athletic kid, Gladio remembers, even before starting Crownsguard training. But Gladio's been fighting for his life daily, for over ten years now, and it shows. Ignis perches on the edge of the table gingerly. "Shirt off."

Ignis makes a weak noise, wanting to refuse most likely, but undoes the buttons on his shirt anyway. He slips his left arm out and then eases it off his right. He's bruised pretty badly, Gladio sees when he trains the light on him. Contusions have bloomed on his neck and down the front of his arm from his shoulder. Gladio tugs Ignis' undershirt free, yanking it up so Ignis' arm is wrenched, and that earns him a yelp.

"Doesn't look like it's broken," Gladio says, feeling his way along the bone and watching goosebumps rise on bare skin. "You'll be fine." He'd palmed Ignis' necktie earlier, and now he pulls both his arms behind his back and lashes them together, wrists to elbows, clamping down hard with his hands when Ignis struggles. "It's just pain, you can handle it."

"Please let me go," Ignis says. He's probably got an idea of what he's in for, from the way his voice wavers. "Please. I did what you wanted."

Gladio finishes knotting the tie and tugs to make sure it holds. "Yeah. You did. And now I want something else. You ever let someone fuck that smart mouth of yours?" Ignis freezes, and Gladio pinches both his nipples, letting his nails dig in as he twists. "Answer me."

"No," Ignis says, eyes watering. Gladio reaches up and takes off his glasses, tossing them aside so he can enjoy the view better. Gladio will have to figure out how to make present-day Ignis cry, even though it won't be as pretty with all the scars. The tears make him feel his power over Ignis, and he likes that, taking him down a peg or two. "Please. _Please_."

"Please fuck me?" Gladio asks, just to be a dick.

Ignis shakes his head, and then he throws himself backwards, tucking his legs up so he rolls off the table and lands with his feet under him in a crouch. Impressive, Gladio thinks. The kid's got fight in him. Sure, he catches him well before he makes it to the doors and has to choke him again to keep him from yelling, but he actually believes he can save himself.

Gladio is going to enjoy proving him wrong.

He uses the hand not around Ignis' neck to undo his belt and rip his trousers open. He tosses Ignis on the table on his back, so his bound arms are under him, and while he's momentarily stunned Gladio yanks off both trousers and underpants, which fall to the floor along with his school loafers. Gladio removes his socks as well; total nakedness is more aesthetically pleasing.

He walks around and drags Ignis toward him, so his head hangs off the table edge. Opening his own trousers, he takes his cock out. He's hard; Ignis has that effect on him. Ignis is trying to raise his head and his eyes are fixed on Gladio's cock, jaw clenched resolutely shut.

"We both know you're not going to bite me," he says, rubbing the head over Ignis' lips, making them glisten with precome. "It would hardly be good for your future career to be caught naked in the library with a dick stuck in your teeth. Imagine explaining that to Noctis. If they ever let you see him again, of course." He gives Ignis' cheeks a slap, one side and then the other. "I got stuff I need to do, so if you stop being a little bitch we can finish this in ten, fifteen minutes. You've wasted more time waiting for His Highness to choke down a salad."

Ignis' eyes narrow and grow colder when Gladio talks about Noct.

"Open up," Gladio says. "Or I start sending the kid pictures. Think he'd like to see you with come all over your face? Your pretty mouth stretched around my cock like a whore? Think that would give him trauma, or go right into his spank bank?"

Ignis shudders and closes his eyes, but his lips open when Gladio pushes against them, and his teeth part after another warning slap. Gladio has no intention of going slow and letting Ignis adjust; it'd be just like him to figure out how to gain the upper hand even spread out like this. Gladio starts like he means to go on, fucking his mouth in earnest. Ignis has obviously never done this before; he coughs and drools and flinches when his tongue brushes against Gladio's cock. Like there was some way he was going to avoid that, Gladio thinks, amused, and holds Ignis' head still in his hands as he pushes to the back of his mouth, lets the head of his cock breach his throat, and then pulls back before Ignis starts to struggle.

Ignis tries to say something, probably _no_ or _stop_ or _don't_ , but he's notoriously good at picking up new skills. This is just another to add to his repertoire (Gladio always did wonder how Iggy learned this), and it's fucking hot watching Ignis' throat distend as it sheathes his cock. Gods. He wants to pound in hard, he wants to come all over Ignis' face, he wants to _ruin_ him for everyone who comes after, and he tells Ignis that, pours out every filthy thought that crosses his mind.

Ignis' struggles take on a fevered pitch, and Gladio pulls all the way out just in time. Ignis curls to the side as he throws up, and Gladio grabs his school uniform shirt to mop the table up and wipe Ignis' face clean.

"You just need more practice," Gladio says, trying to be encouraging as Ignis spits up more bile, a trickle leaking from his nose that he tries to rub onto the shirt. "Your turn, now."

He's not fond of giving blowjobs, but Ignis has earned a reward, so Gladio pins his hips down against the table and sucks his soft dick into his mouth. Ignis makes confused noises, and then musters the strength to try and persuade Gladio that he doesn't want this. He starts begging as his dick stiffens and the first tang of come hits Gladio's throat. Gladio gets two fingers sloppy wet and presses them into Ignis' hole as he sucks, despite Ignis' increasingly annoying protests. He twists his fingers, trying to loosen Ignis up, finding and rubbing his prostate, which brings Ignis to one of the fastest orgasms Gladio's ever witnessed.

It's almost funny, seeing as how Ignis is such a fan of marathon sex, trying out new positions, staying on the edge as long as he can. This younger Ignis is, Gladio tells him after spitting Ignis' come into his palm, an eager little slut. He's _good_ at this – natural talent – and with a little practice he'll have people queuing up for a ride.

"But you'll always remember I was your first," he says, slicking Ignis up with his own come. "Every time someone touches you." He'd love to leave Ignis' ass dripping with his spunk, but he's not going to get his own younger self arrested on DNA evidence, so he snags a condom from his wallet and rolls it on. "Once I'm inside you, game over, you're marked for life." He pushes Ignis' thighs up and shoves right into his loosened hole. It's still uncomfortably tight, but Gladio rocks his hips, pressing forward steadily until his balls slap against Ignis' ass. "Go ahead and lie about how you lost your virginity – " he knows for a fact that Ignis does so – "this here is the truth."

Tears spill over from Ignis' watering eyes. He's given up on trying to talk his way out of sex, which is good, but now he's being limp and sulky, turning his head to the side and making Gladio do all the work. So – what the hell – Gladio stops holding back and hammers him so deep he bets Ignis feels his cock banging into his throat from the other side. He keeps up the relentless pace until he feels his balls draw up, and then yanks Ignis' hips down flush against him, so he's fully inside him as he comes.

Ignis cries out as he pulls free, probably as bruised inside as he is out. Gladio ties off the condom and sticks it in his uniform pocket before tucking himself back in his pants. He leaves Ignis lying there like some obscene holiday centerpiece; after a moment, Ignis shifts onto his side to relieve pressure on his arms, and pulls his knees up to his chest.

Gladio hauls out a chair and sits down to read through his stack of books. He brought a notebook and a pen, hoping to find something good, but the information about magic isn't as useful as he'd hoped. Too much speculation, too little concrete research; and precious little about time or time-travel at all. There are a few tantalizing hints that Solheim did create machinery intended to act as _doorways in time_ , but like most of their technology, very little survived in the archaeological record. All he wants is a straightforward set of directions that he simply needs to follow, but there's nothing. Thousands of words of nothing.

He keeps reading until past midnight, his frustration mounting; this seemed like such a great opportunity to do something momentous and world-changing, but he's paralyzed by the fear of fucking the timeline up instead, and of creating an even worse doom than his own dark, King-less world, ravaged by Scourge and abandoned by the gods. He needs some fucking guidance and leadership, a signpost, anything, but fuck if the wisdom of the ancients didn't die with them. He hopes they're all burning in the lowest circle of hell.

He shuts the last book with a bang that resonates in the empty hall, and Ignis flinches. He's been mostly unmoving, like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Right," Gladio says, and Ignis makes a noise like he'd been hit. Gladio's rage tempts him to do just that. "I'm done. You want to stay here, or you going home?"

Ignis sits up, stiffly. His eyes are red, and his nose is running. Gladio pulls out a knife and cuts his arms free. Ignis doesn't thank him; does not, in fact, even look at him. Instead, he slides off the edge of the table, stumbling as he gains his feet. With the flashlight trained on him, he dresses, stepping into his underpants and then his trousers. His shirt is stained and dirty, but after he struggles into his undershirt he puts the shirt on anyway. His right arm hangs mostly useless, his hand curled over his stomach. He sits to put on his socks and shoes, and bites back a whimper when his ass hits the chair.

Yeah, Gladio bets he'll be feeling that for a while. He stuffs the remains of the tie back into Ignis' pocket and makes him follow along as he reshelves the books. It's nearly comical the way Ignis stumbles like a sleepwalker, though he supposes maybe the kid is up past his bedtime as well as all fucked out. He wonders if Ignis' uncle is waiting up for him, and nearly asks before he decides that he doesn't give a damn.

"I'm going to walk you out," he tells Ignis. "Again, I'm armed, and if you make a fuss in front of the guards I'll have to shoot them, too. Do the smart thing."

Ignis just nods.

They take the elevator down to the ground floor, where only the east gate is open at this time of night.

"Hey, Radix, I found this kid sleeping in the library," Gladio calls to the night guard as they pass the security window. "I'm going to take him home."

They're buzzed through the doors and out to the plaza, where they go through one more set of gates that lock electronically after them. Then they're free, out on the boulevard.

The night is cold with a brisk wind, and Ignis is shaking, wrapping his arms around himself in a pathetic attempt to warm up. Gladio wouldn't want him to get sick, and it _is_ late, so he hails the first passing taxi.

He doesn't miss the sharp look Ignis gives him when Gladio reels off his address, but neither of them say anything. In the confines of the car, the smell of sick from Ignis' shirt is vile. When they get out, Gladio starts walking Ignis up to the front door of his uncle's house, but as soon as the taxi pulls away he runs. He doesn't remember hearing that Ignis was ever mixed up in any trouble like this, but he has no plan to stick around and risk arrest for corrupting youth, or whatever it's called.

He changes back into his own clothes on his way out of the city, and stuffs the uniform into his dad's briefcase, chucking it into the ocean. He rents a chocobo for part of the trip back across the country, and then steals a car for the rest of the journey. Why not? It doesn't matter, nothing matters. He can't change the future. Nothing he does will stave off the end of the world.

*

Seeing Iggy – the real, present-day Iggy – for the first time after returning from the past is a heady mixture of terror and exhilaration. Ignis doesn't know, obviously; if he did, Gladio's sure he'd have been gutted and castrated years ago. Part of him wonders, giddily, if Ardyn knew, if that was why he chose to use Gladio's semblance to mock Ignis before he attempted to kill him. If that was so, no wonder Ardyn messes with Iggy's head so badly. But on the plus side, at least there's another, more plausible suspect in Ignis' childhood assault. The relief Gladio feels when he realizes this is dizzying, and he finds himself thinking, well, _yeah_. Everyone knows Ardyn's an asshole with magic powers; no one knows how the apostate darkness has entered Gladio and begun consuming his soul.

When their business is concluded, Ignis invites him over to his tiny flat, where they have to sit on the bed because there are no chairs. Ignis makes tea, like always, and they balance their cups on Iggy's wobbly folding table. They talk about Ignis' latest hunt, and Gladio tries to duck the question about what he's been up to.

"The amusing thing," Ignis says apropos nothing, in a very bland tone that suggests he's deadly serious, "is that I'd never wanted to tell anyone my humiliating junior high confession story; some secrets one carries to the grave. I'm sure you agree. But I trusted you. Imagine my... chagrin, shall we say, when then you returned from the Proving Grounds with a scar that made your resemblance to a certain Crownsguard near identical, and the terrible question that put to my mind. "

"You doubted me?" Gladio asks numbly, feeling hurt on behalf of who he'd been then, ten years ago: young; strong in body; reaffirmed and resolute in spirit.

Ignis shrugs, as if he could not possibly care less, and takes a slow sip of tea. He sets the cup down. "You raped me," he says, still dispassionate. "I'd hardly say we're even."

"You should have told me the other story," Gladio says when he gets his breath back. "What happened. In the library. Maybe then I'd – " He cuts himself off at Ignis' look of utmost incredulity.

"Would you have felt mercy for me?" His voice drops. "Or would you have taken notes?"

Gladio swallows. He's in an indefensible position, cornered, and unleashing the anger that coils restless in his guts would be a terrible mistake. Still... "If you knew it was going to happen, you should have stopped me."

Ignis is looking at him as if he's repulsively stupid. "Like you, I presume, I was unsure if time travel could bring about an improved future, or if it merely created the one we have now. Now we know that it changes nothing, well. The technology is too dangerous to leave lying around. I've requested the hunters destroy the site."

"Maybe if I tried again..."

"Who will you hurt next time?" Ignis asks, very softly, and Gladio shivers like the room's gone Glacian cold. "No."

"What are you going to do to me?"

Ignis taps his fingertips together; it's chillingly sinister. "It's odd," he muses. "I refused to believe my own eyes and ears, because I _knew_ you. I trusted you. Even when the darkness fell and we started to drift apart, I still believed you wouldn't hurt me. So I suppose... we will just have to wait and see. I'm sure something will come to me in time." He gets up, finding the edge of the table with a hand and tracing it absently, even that light touch enough to make it sway. "And you won't lay a hand on me because if you do, I've ensured that people will find out what you've done. When Noct returns, I rather think he wouldn't let you serve him if he knew." Ignis' slight smile is feral. "Do you?"

Gladio's head is reeling. He can't make himself respond; he wants to believe, to be useful, to stand tall, to Shield his King. Ignis pays him no attention, turning and walking to the door, finding the latch, and letting himself out – to where, Gladio has no idea. He has no right to know, not now. The door closes quiet as a whisper, and Gladio exhales harshly, throat as raw as if he'd been crying for hours. He's left sitting on the bed where he and Ignis have slept together, had sex, where they shared meals and talked for hours.

The realization seeps into him like poison. Nothing he did in the past could have swayed Iggy's steadfast belief; that faith was built on the very foundation that Gladio cracked, decades ago. Gladio couldn't have dragged Ignis down with him. The descent into dark and dishonor was all his, and would be forevermore.

_Oh, gods._

_Oh, my King, oh,_ Noct.

What has he done?


End file.
